"Do you care for him still?"

"Not a day passed during these many months that I did not vow I hated

him."

"Any one else know?"

"The padre. I had to tell some one or go mad. But I didn't hate him. I

could no more put him out of my life than I could stop breathing. Ah, I

have been so miserable and unhappy!" She laid her head upon his knees and

clumsily he stroked it. His girl!

"That's the trouble with us Irish, Nora. We jump without looking, without

finding whether we're right or wrong. Well, your daddy's opinion is that

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you should have read his first letter. If it didn't ring right, why, you

could have jumped the traces. I don't believe he did anything wrong at

all. It isn't in the man's blood to do anything underboard."

"But I saw her," a queer look in her eyes as she glanced up at him.

"I don't care a kioodle if you did. Take it from me, it was a put-up job

by that Calabrian woman. She might have gone to his room for any number of

harmless things. But I think she was curious."

"Why didn't she come to me, if she wanted to ask questions?"

"I can see you answering 'em. She probably just wanted to know if you were

married or not. She might have been in love with him, and then she might

not. These Italians don't know half the time what they're about, anyhow.

But I don't believe it of Courtlandt. He doesn't line up that way.

Besides, he's got eyes. You're a thousand times more attractive. He's no

fool. Know what I think? As she was coming out she saw you at your door;

and the devil in her got busy."

Nora rose, flung her arms around him and kissed him.

"Look out for that tin ear!"

"Oh, you great big, loyal, true-hearted man! Open that door and let me get

out to the terrace. I want to sing, sing!"

"He said he was going to Milan in the morning."

She danced to the door and was gone.

"Nora!" he called, impatiently. He listened in vain for the sound of her

return. "Well, I'll take the count when it comes to guessing what a

woman's going to do. I'll go out and square up with the old girl. Wonder

how this news will harness up with her social bug?"

Courtlandt got into his compartment at Varenna. He had tipped the guard

liberally not to open the door for any one else, unless the train was

crowded. As the shrill blast of the conductor's horn sounded the warning

of "all aboard," the door opened and a heavily veiled woman got in

hurriedly. The train began to move instantly. The guard slammed the door

and latched it. Courtlandt sighed: the futility of trusting these

Italians, of trying to buy their loyalty! The woman was without any

luggage whatever, not even the usual magazine. She was dressed in brown,

her hat was brown, her veil, her gloves, her shoes. But whether she was

young or old was beyond his deduction. He opened his Corriere and held

it before his eyes; but he found reading impossible. The newspaper finally

slipped from his hands to the floor where it swayed and rustled unnoticed.

He was staring at the promontory across Lecco, the green and restful hill,

the little earthly paradise out of which he had been unjustly cast. He

couldn't understand. He had lived cleanly and decently; he had wronged no

man or woman, nor himself. And yet, through some evil twist of fate, he

had lost all there was in life worth having. The train lurched around a

shoulder of the mountain. He leaned against the window. In a moment more

the villa was gone.




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